Closet Confessions
by SomeKindofAuthor
Summary: In a mad dash to escape Max, Iggy pulls Ella into a closet. Face to face with with her angel, Ella stutters and makes a complete idiot of herself, but Iggy thinks she's a high quality yo-yo anyway. EllaxIggy
1. Iggy

**A/N: Yes, this IS EllaxIggy. No, the summary was not a mis-print. I wanted to see if I could do it. Besides, this wouldn't work for NudgexIggy, and I just really wanted to do a story in which the backdrop was a closet. I'm sure you can relate.**

**Closet Confessions**

"Shh!" he whispered, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me into the closet.

Um. Wow.

I had actually pictured Iggy's and my first conversation in which we would divulge our innermost emotions and desires. But I'd never imagined we'd first connect in a closet with hangers digging into our skin and a game of Scrabble tumbling down on our heads.

That would come later.

But now?

My cheeks flamed, and I instinctively put a hand over my face to hide in shame even though present company was blind and the closet was dark. The only source of light snuck in through the slight crack of the doorway. It shined on Iggy revealing his eager and mischievous smile as he cocked his ear toward the doorway.

"Shh!" he said again, but more out of his own amusement, caught up in the adrenaline of this game he was playing, than trying to make me quiet. I was speechless anyway. Aphonic, I stared up at Iggy, one of the amazing, beautiful angels who'd landed disregarding all normalcy, and shattered the mundane glass that had once trapped me in a sheltered box. My gaze traced him, taking in his completely surreal form. Again I hiccuped a breath not fully believing that this angel (although they preferred the term "mutant freaks", I couldn't think of them as anything but angels) was actually a few inches away from me. His lips quirked to one side in devious amusement. His eyes, though without sight, weren't dull in any way, and shone brightly with a child's playfulness. A playfulness that certainly hadn't been there in the first few days of staying at my house. They'd all been so heavily guarded on themselves, and any attempts my mother made to break down the barrier could only be slightly bent by Max's encouragement. But now, Iggy had opened up much more showing more sides to himself. Sides that I couldn't help finding… slightly… attractive.

Iggy pulled away from the door and took a seat next to me, brushing past the crap on our closet floor to make a comfortable seat for himself. His mouth dipped a little with disappointment.

"Hmm…" he said to himself more than to me. "She followed him."

I blinked, trying to understand the situation. When it became clear that I wasn't going to be able to put Ella, Iggy and Closet together and come up with something rational by myself, I opened my mouth.

Of course, faced with this fair angel I couldn't sound like anything more than an idiot lest I not completely give away how I felt about him.

"Um… er… Iggy?" It felt weird to say his name. It differed so much from the names that I usually dealt with, Tim, Dave, Matt, that it felt foreign on my tongue. One more huge difference between me and my angels landed. "Um, why did you pull me into the closet?"

Iggy cocked his head to the right before turning in my direction. His face pulled out of disappointment and he started to grin again.

"Max is going to kill me," Iggy stated, as though that cleared everything up.

I nodded, pretending I understood exactly what he was talking about, but apparently those sightless eyes saw right through me as he went, "Gazzy and I blew up something special of hers, and so she decided to chase us, shaking her fist in animosity and wailing threats to kill us. When Max is involved, you know it's no exaggeration, and so I ran. I just happened to run down the hall in which you were standing, and figuring you would give me away if I left you out here, I pulled you into the closet."

As though this was perfectly normal. As though his heart weren't pounding nervously. Though, it probably wasn't. I suddenly realized that the metronome thunder was my heart.

"I wouldn't have given you away," I mumbled dumbly.

Iggy nodded, not bothering to listen for the hidden semantics of that sentence, instead dipping his head toward the door. He smiled contently.

"She's real mad. Listen," he said to me, and he motioned his hands toward the door.

I stared stupidly at Iggy for five seconds before pressing my ear on the closet door and closing my eyes and listening. Then I heard. Not that I needed to close my eyes to hear her; Max's shrieks were loud and demanded the attention of ear drums from here to Beijing.

"I'm coming for you, Iggy!" she called from across the house.

I backed away from the door and drew my knees into myself, studying Iggy.

"What'd you blow up?"

"A present of Fang's. I 'spect he'll be real mad at us when he finds out, but luckily he's at a soccer game."

"Do you enjoy torturing Max?"

"It's what I do."

And he said it so nonchalantly that I had to smile. As though, not being enrolled in school or employed in a job, he dubbed his purpose as spending his time creating plans and devising schemes to drive Max crazy.

"You don't think that maybe... I dunno, added to saving the world, you destroying her coveted items might... maybe, make things worse?"

Iggy paused, and his smile dropped, but not into a frown. His face registered into a thoughtful expression as he backed from the door, and leaned on the side of the closet. He was still mute as he reached behind him and cleared the stray hangers and board games. So silent for so long that I hastened to break the silence, embarrassed that I'd started talking about something that I didn't understand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just--"

"I don't think I'm making it worse."

And again I stared. "Oh. Um. That's not what I--"

"In fact, I think I'm making it better."

"Right, I'm sure you are, I never meant to say--"

"Will you shut-up?" Iggy said, but with a small smile. I amused him. "What I'm saying is-- you're right. Max has a lot on her mind right now, and Gazzy and I help to relieve some of that. I mean, her brother just died after spending half his life as a monster—the fate of the world rests on her shoulders—and her stupid best friend keeps pushing his feelings on her. If I can relieve her of some of that pain, and if only for two seconds hear her laugh—even at the thought of eventually torturing me—as long as it's not tinged with the bitterness that it has been—then I'll do whatever."

I looked at Iggy Ride, and suddenly even with this new wave of information, I realized that I knew absolutely nothing. I realized that, although their arrival was the highlight of my otherwise average life, this was only a pit stop for the mutant-angels. There was an entire life to them that I didn't know about-- couldn't know about-- would never know about.

But I felt thoroughly grateful that I could occasionally catch glimpses of it.

To make this moment last longer, I uncharacteristically pushed words out of my mouth. Undoubtedly, they'd turn out stupid so I tried hard not to care, just prolonging our moment. In the closet. Not the most romantic place for a secret rendezvous, but when I recounted it to the girls, I would definitely change the location to someplace worthy of jealousy. Like a yacht. Although if they only saw Iggy, it would be enough to spark at the green embers of their envy. But then I abruptly realized that I didn't want them to see him. And I probably wouldn't tell anybody about this moment either. Not even to embellish it to make it seem like Iggy Ride proposed to me. I kind of just wanted to keep this simple, understated point in time to myself and my pillow.

Hmm.

"So you're holding me hostage?" I asked.

Iggy's grin widened. Apparently playing Kidnap the Human was as much fun as Watch Max's Head Explode. "Sure. I wonder how much you're worth?"

My blush intensified. There's something to be said for having a blind crush: they can't see how utterly stupid you're being. But I covered my face with my hand anyway even though it didn't help the sudden burning under my fingertips.

"Oh—uhm, I dunno, probably not much." Wait—didn't guys admire confidence in a girl? Where's the confidence in saying that you're "probably not worth much"? Ugh, no wonder Iggy never looked twice at me. Such low self-esteem. And the fact that he was blind. Still. "I mean, I guess I'm worth a few dollars… maybe a yo-yo?"

A yo-yo?

Mini-Ella's jaw dropped at Real-Ella's incredible stupidity and lack of cool-ness in any regard, especially in the area of Men. Who compares themselves to a yo-yo? I pointed out to Mini-Ella that a yo-yo is perfectly relevant as there was a yo-yo not an inch away from my toe. Mini-Ella asked me why the hay I was staring at a child's toy when there was a perfectly fine-looking angel not two feet away from me. I mentioned calmly that staring at Iggy for too long made me dizzy and lightheaded in a medically worrisome kind of way. Mini-Ella killed herself.

"A Yo-yo?" Iggy repeated, indicating that he sided with Mini-Ella in this one: I was an idiot. I proceeded to dig my humiliated and shamed face into my hands. I decided that I'd never come out. In fact, I'd never come out of this closet. I would stay in this closet until the end of the world which, if Max decides not to save it, would come pretty soon by Uncle Jeb's estimates. I was already planning how to work in bathroom trips when Iggy said something that made me re-think my cave-dwelling plans.

"A pretty high quality yo-yo, I'd say…"

If any other guy compared any other girl to a yo-yo, even a high quality yo-yo, I doubt that the girl would think it was a compliment. Really, it would possibly be construed as a down-grade as most people associate yo-yo's with two minutes of fun before you become frustrated and give up.

However this was Iggy; he could've compared me to G.I. Joe and my stomach would've emerged from its cocoon, sprouted butterflies, and progress to flying up my throat where it would get stuck and keep me from saying anything besides the various filler words: "Er… uhm… erm… uh… yea…"

But by this time, Iggy's attention had averted from me and my stammers, and his ear was pressed to the door. Seconds later, Max's shrieks followed, and his mischievous grin sprouted, and I knew that our Moment-In-The-Closet was over. I knew that maybe we'd never connect like this again, or maybe we would, but that all seemed okay because he called me a yo-yo.

Max's screams drew closer and Iggy quickly stood up. "See ya," he called as he wrenched open the door, bolted from the closet and began running down the hall.

The sane thing to do, the thing that my Mini-Ella conscience would advise me to do, would be to exit the closet and go about my life as though nothing had ever happened because realistically nothing of importance would come from our coincidental meeting. But Mini Ella was dead, and I had no sane figment of my imagination to tell me what was "right". Thus, I got to indulge in my purely improbable fantasies without the constant nag of reality.

I closed the closet door, settled myself comfortably in the sea of coats, hangers and board games, and grabbed the toy yo-yo from off the floor. I breathed in the smell of my angel; yes mine, even if he didn't know he was mine, even if he just thought that I was this chick with low-self esteem who happened to be good for a conversation in a coat closet.

That's when I realized, in the dark, the closet door having shut-off all entryways for reality's cruel daggers, that maybe there was hope for Iggy and me. Maybe something would come of this.

After all, he said I was a yo-yo.

Could this be love?

**A/N: So... did I do well? As my first EllaxIggy that's not one-sided and doesn't leave Ella in tears and close to cutting-stage?**


	2. The Gasman

Chapter Two

**The Gasman**

**A/N: Summary: In an attempt to guarantee that Iggy's new girl doesn't break his heart, the Gasman pulls Ella into a closet to have a chat with her. **

"Hurt him, and you die."

My mother had always told me to stand up to bullies. I wondered then if she had ever taken into account that I might've been bullied by a nine-year old angel with wings who decided to pull me into a dark closet lit only by the red light pouring onto his face from the flashlight under his chin. I thought maybe not. His face was set in a look of determination heightened by a glare that was set to the level _If Looks Could Kill_, and aimed straight for me.

Even if he was four years younger than me, I swear if that kid had said "boo" I would've pissed my pants and ran screaming out of the closet.

Instead, the Gasman clamped his hand over my mouth, and continued his threats.

"For some reason, Iggy likes you. A lot. He would rather spend time with you than light Nudge's Hannah Montana CDs on fire, which I just don't get, but whatever he's my best friend. Whatever makes him happy, right? But if you _don't_ make him happy, I mean, if you _break his heart_ you're going to have five very angry mutants on your butt."

The Gasman seemed satisfied with that as he loosed his grip on my mouth and sat back in the closet.

I gaped at him, my mind a mixture of confusion and fright.

_Great, Ella, you're scared of a fourth grader? Iggy will be so impressed._

So I attempted to right my composure and look bored, or at least a little amused at the Gasman's antics, but that was kind of hard to do since I was in a closet with someone who had probably snapped a few hundred necks in his lifetime and really wouldn't mind snapping _mine_ if provoked. Lovely.

Plus, y'know, I heard that being in close quarters with _the Gasman_ was never a smart move. But _he_ had _me_ hostage so I couldn't do much about the situation besides watch him play with the different colored lights on the flashlight, switching back and forth between blue and red, going from looking like a Dark Angel to a mermaid.

"So, like, what is it with birdkids and closets?"

The Gasman looked up from playing with his toy. His gaze had relaxed now that he was certain that I was thoroughly scared into not hurting Iggy for at least the rest of their stay. Instead of the Demonic look, he came across as curious.

"What?"

"Oh. See, Iggy pulled me in the closet the other day. It was kind of weird _then_, but not as weird as it is _now_ cause, y'know you've also just pulled me into the closet which makes twice in four days, and I'm not accustomed to spending this much time in closets."

"What were you doing in the closet?" the Gasman asked, suddenly very interested.

"Talking… just, talking." My cheeks flushed with heat and I knew that my face was suffused with an embarrassed red. The Gasman looked slightly disgusted and I knew that he thought we'd done more than just talked. By the state of my face, it seemed like we'd done a _lot_ more, because why would I be blushing from just a chat in the closet?

Well for starters, we were _in a closet_. That alone was enough starting material to last the boys in my eighth grade Health class at least three periods.

The thing was, though on the surface it seemed as if we only talked like passing acquaintances who just happened to be thrown together in a closet, it felt like more. It felt like we'd both touched each other, but not in a thirteen-year-old-dirty-mind kind of way. Deeper than that. Less tangible. Stepping into that closet had felt like taking a step toward understanding Iggy—but not _just_ Iggy. Before now, the Gasman had hardly spoken to me. Now he was throwing me into closets, and okay he was threatening to break several limbs if I hurt his best friend, but I thought it could be the prelude to a beautiful friendship.

Speaking of Iggy's best bud…

I guess that I looked pretty stupid, because The Gasman was staring at me as though trying to decode the meaning of life and it was hidden behind my eyes. Finally he gave up with a sigh. "I don't get it. Probably cause I'm too young. That's what Iggy said, anyway, that I just can't understand cause I'm too young. Which basically _sucks_. I mean, I can't watch that new Will Smith movie cause I'm only nine. But I never thought that I would be too young to talk to my best friend! I _know_ girls don't have cooties by now. YouTube cured me of that. But apparently that's not enough."

I kind of felt bad for the guy. His best friend had just entered a ride that Gazzy was just too short to get on. And instead of hopping on another one that they both could enjoy, Iggy had left the Gasman behind. "Sorry," I muttered.

"Yeah, it is kind of your fault."

I recalled a conversation with Max in which she'd explained how they really hadn't had time for Miss Manners training at the School, and how, between running for their lives and committing mutant murders, she hadn't had time to instill anything in the Flock besides the fundamental Magic Words. "Besides," Iggy had added, "who really needs Please and Thank-you when, if you want something, you have the power to render them unconscious within the next second?"

When the Gasman said that I was at fault for this rip in their friendship, I kind of wished that Max had taken the Flock aside for a brief lesson on Tact. Even if it WAS, in actuality, my fault, that didn't mean that I wanted to hear it, or that I could help but keep some irritation from mixing with my next apology. "Sorry." I crossed my arms.

The Gasman studied me again and I felt myself shrink under his blue gaze. I wanted to know what he was thinking when he looked at me like that. Was he thinking that I wasn't good enough for his friend? Did he hate me for giving Iggy the incentive to venture out on an escapade that would leave him temporarily best friend-less?

"His life kind of sucks."

_That _I was not expecting "What?"

"I mean, we _all_ have a sucky life. It comes with the territory of being a freak. But out of all of us it's definitely Max and Iggy who have the suckiest life. Max has the whole Saving the World thing on her shoulders, and the whitecoats royally screwed Iggy over so that now, he's blind_. _The thing is…" for once in our conversation, the Gasman looked sort of nervous. He looked down at the floor in front of him, took a lighter from his pocket and ignited it again and again. I worried briefly for the state of our closet if the Gasman's flame got out of control, but Gazzy's next words blew a mind swipe toward me. "He told me… you kind of make it _not _suck so much. So I guess I can forgive you, but only because you make his life less crappy."

"Oh… um… well…" How does one react to that? My ears rang with the nine year old's words over and over again and I couldn't help my lips from tugging at their corners into a happy, but undoubtedly goofy, grin. _I made his life less crappy…?_ Even in the vocabulary of a fourth grader, those words sparked at my heart. A giggle erupted from my throat which caused the Gasman to look up from his nervousness and stare at me using his now frequent expression as though he wondered just how sane I was and how long he would be safe in close proximity to me. I clamped my hand over my mouth, but the giggles continued, spilling out over my lips, tumbling like a waterfall and I couldn't help it, but I didn't _want_ to help it, because I was happy, goshdarnnit, and a skeptical stare from a nine year old bird kid wouldn't change that at all.

"_You make his life_ not_ suck so much."_

_Squeeee!_

The Gasman stood up from the floor and pocketed his lighter. He sent one last fleeting look toward me before opening the closet door and exiting, shaking his head and muttering to himself: "I just don't get it…"

One day you will, Gazzy, I thought resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, and gazing dreamily into space. One day you'll understand what it means when your heart thunders dangerously, when your stomach gathers your internal organs and organizes the Wave, when your mind is hooked on thoughts of one subject, of one topic, but you don't mind it a bit cause it's a topic you sure as heck can enjoy.

Someday, Gazzy, you'll understand when you make someone's life kind of not suck so much.

**A/N: So… any ideas for Chapter Three? I'm not an Ella/Iggy shipper, so I'd love some suggestions. **


	3. Dr Martinez

**A/N: So some of you have asked for a kiss;**** you guys really like the Ella/Iggy aspect of this story. Fair enough. But, just a warning, there's not going to be much Ella/Iggy interaction. Plenty of talk about their relationship and its development, but to other people. This story is more focused on how Ella copes with the shattering of her reality through conversations in a closet. If I'm happy, though (and the probability of such a situation is low considering school) the next chapter might come soon and I might have an Iggy/Ella oneshot for y'all.  
**

**Dr. Martinez**

**Summary**: Dr. Martinez and Ella chat about the complications of having a boyfriend who takes to the skies always with the chance that he may not come back.

"Ella."

"Mom."

Mom wrung her hands, and then wiped the sweat on her jeans. She gave me a small smile.

"So, my lovely, maturing daughter of mine—"

"Mom, what are you doing here?" I looked around at the closet and then at my mom who didn't seem to have any real purpose; her eyes darted around, never lingering on any particular item.

"I asked Iggy where you'd be and he grinned and told me that you were probably in the closet."

I blushed and readied my fists for avian-hybrid bashing. "Remind me to kill him. Max has been teaching me some moves."

"Well, hon, you _were_ in the closet," she said, laughing.

"I was getting Scrabble for me and Gazzy!" I cried in my defense.

Mom frowned. "Ella… what have I told you about playing Scrabble with the Gasman?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not to take advantage of his inability to spell anything with more than four letters. But _he_ challenged _me_, Mom, trying to prove he was better than me."

First thing after landing, the Gasman would always call me out, thrusting his index finger in my face and challenging me to some game or another. He had yet to ask me to duel, and I was dreading the day where he would taunt me into it, asking me if I was such a wimp that I would be too scared to fight a nine-year-old. Was I a chicken in a past life or was my cowardice something recent? He usually asked for board games like Sorry or today's Scrabble and when the games required teams he would immediately call Iggy, even if Iggy's blindness put their team at a disadvantage. One more way to rub it in that he was there first.

"I can't figure out if he likes you or if he hates you," Mom mused, echoing my own feelings.

I reached up to the top shelf for Scrabble. "Is that why you pulled me into the closet? You wanted to talk to me about Gazzy?"

"No. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about… well, about Iggy."

I whipped around, almost knocking over the stack of games to glare indignantly at my mother. "Mom!"

"Don't start, Ella."

"What are you—don't even—Oh. Gosh. _Mom_!" I stammered trying to wrap my head around the talk we were about to have. I recalled memories of awkward conversations in elementary school when the entire fifth grade was separated into boys and girls and the female teachers talked to us about the Facts of Life. I shuddered. "I know where babies come from."

"The stork, right?" My mom grinned.

"Just like you taught me."

Then her grin faded and she leaned against the walls of the closet. "That's not what I wanted to say."

My mind, though, was still wrapped around the previous topic, thinking back to the documentary the teachers had us watch about certain _feelings_ we would start to have about the opposite sex. Most of us had gone "Ew" because that was what we knew the boys would say, even though most of the girls had started feeling that way already. We didn't want the boys to know and get so creeped out by the thought of our crushes on them that they would stop chasing us at recess. At that point we were satisfied that they weren't ready to hold hands or kiss or any of the mushy stuff that would hopefully come later.

Now was later.

I swallowed a throat full of mixed feelings, and said, "We haven't even kissed yet, Mom, you're safe."

"But you are _not_ safe, Ella,"

"What?"

"Have you thought this through?"

At about this time, we started ignoring each other.

"Are you saying you don't want me to be with Iggy?" I asked, focusing solely on this.

"I don't think either of you understand what will happen," my mother went on, talking about something else entirely.

"Look, despite what Nudge and Max say about him, he's really not that bad."

"You seem to think that the Flock is invincible."

"I know the word sexist pig has been thrown around, but they don't _mean_ it. It's all in good fun."

"But now when Iggy leaves—and he will leave, Ella, he _has_ to leave—when Iggy leaves you'll feel it. I don't want to see that happen to you."

I finally jumped over to her conversation. "See what happen?"

Mom walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder like she was about to deliver terrible news. My heartbeat picked up a little, but then I remembered that Iggy was safely in the living room waiting for me to return with Scrabble.

"Ella… you realize that there is always a possibility… a possibility that he won't come back." The sad smile my mother donned didn't make her words any less painful to hear

Again, I purposefully ignored what she was trying to say in favor of a conversation that was less painful for my heart to follow. "He said he'd visit whenever possible."

"You know that's not what I mean." She looked at me reproachfully, but with sympathy, and I looked down.

"I know."

"Max is very good at keeping them alive."

"I know."

"But they aren't invincible, Ella, and their lives are very hard."

"I _know_, Mom!"

"You're human, Ella. They're not."

I didn't want to hear about this. I was almost to the point where covering my ears and screaming _La, la, la_ was looking favorable. I made to leave the closet.

"Ella."

Her warning tone made me turn back around to glare. My hands shook, and I saw her eyes widen in surprise, her eyebrows come together with concern. I was surprised too. I hadn't figured on being so _angry_. But, of course, I wasn't angry. I was scared. But Confrontation won over Scream-And-Cry, so I had to channel all of my fright into fury.

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Mom. 'Ella's just barely a teenager, an ignorant _child_, she can't have possibly stayed up all night one day, crying and thinking about the fact that her maybe-boyfriend is in a war where every day is a fight for his life. She can't have because she's too caught up in a stupid naïve crush.' Well she _did_ think about it. She _knows_."

I wasn't stupid. I knew the gist of what went on in the skies and it wasn't cloud-ball fights. And while I liked to pretend that the time between visits to the Martinez house were tranquil, I'd see the new scars on his shoulders, bruises on his legs, and there were times when I couldn't just pretend away his wince when I accidentally touched a spot tender from the last mutant butt-whooping he received.

"It's hard knowing. Knowing hurts. It is _much _easier to pretend," I added, a little embarrassed. Although the longer he was away, the harder it was for me to pretend that everything was okay. My imagination would become my greatest enemy, gleefully attacking my consciousness with visions of a beaten Iggy, battered until each of his cries for help were accentuated with choking on blood.

"So don't pretend," my mom insisted, throwing an arm around my shoulder and squeezing. "Why would the Flock want you to ignore that part of their life?"

I leaned my head on her shoulder. I shook my head. "No, Mom, the last thing the Flock wants me to do is talk about what happens to them out there. Max always tries to shelter me from their life, and while Iggy may brag about the latest total of people he's blown up, he only does that when _I_ ask about it. While they're here, they want to eat chocolate chip cookies, watch mindless TV, and pretend that they're normal." I smiled. "It's a trade. While they're in the skies, they face their reality. But their two or three day visits here let the Flock chuck reality and welcome the pretend world they _could have had_."

My mom considered this. "It's not a fair trade, thought."

"How?"

"You. You're always pretending."

I laughed bitterly. "I _have_ to pretend or I'll scream. Polynomials and isosceles triangles are never enough to distract me from the fact that my friends could be killed by a company that wants to stop them from saving the world! It _is_ a fair trade. My sanity and their happiness."

I was crying now. Not big whomping tears, but little ones that I hadn't even noticed until I stopped talking and had nothing else to do except wipe my face dry. I took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "I know I have to face the reality sometimes, but I can't do it while they're here, and not while they're gone, so the fact is that I have to keep on pretending."

"Ells…" My mom brought me into a full-fledged hug complete with motherly squeezes and her hand rubbing my back. "Not with me. You don't have to pretend with me. Hon, I know you're in the stage of your life where the last thing you want to do is talk to me about _anything_. But when you're feeling overwhelmed and crazed about the situation, please come to me. I'll hold you and we won't have to pretend."

In the long while we stood there, crying in the closet, I wondered how big of a stink the Gasman would be making about how long the wait had been for Scrabble. I thought about how easily he could act like every other nine-year old I knew, devilishly competitive when it came to games, all the while bearing an incredible burden to his flight.

Into my mom's shoulder, I said, "I cried last time Max left, too, y'know. It sucks being human."

"They envy you sometimes."

"Yeah," I said. "Still, it sucks being stuck on the ground. How am I supposed to know they're okay?"

"You wait until they return."

"They need those tracking devices that parents put on cars. So we can keep tabs on 'em."

My mom laughed, and the moment was over, so we broke apart. My mother examined my face for any signs of a relapse back into a deep crying jag, and when she found nothing, she nodded. "The only thing we can do is love them while they're gone and rejoice when they come back and there are still six of them."

"Seven. Total will never forgive you for leaving him out," I teased and she smiled.

"So. Scrabble?" she asked, calm as anything as she went over the shelf to take down the box.

I sighed. "I'm too depressed for board games. Iggy'll know something's up when I'm crying while he's laughing."

Mom handed me the box, leaning down to peck me on the cheek. "So laugh with him. Enjoy him here. And when he leaves, challenge him to a rematch. Give him something to look forward to when he comes back."


	4. Nudge

**A/N: Some more Flock/Ella time :) **

**Nudge**

**Summary: **Thanksgiving resurfaces Nudge's envy for a real family and a stable life.

I leaned against the wall and looked on the scene unfolding in the dining room. Iggy crossed his arms and muttered that if Max didn't stop hogging the mashed potatoes by the end of his countdown, someone's face was going into the sweet potato pie. Max ignored Iggy and was instead informing Fang that, yes, silverware _did_ exist in the world without wings, and that if he didn't want a spoon shoved in his tender place, he'd better start using some on his corn. The Gasman's hands were a blur of color as they dashed from the plate to his mouth, and Mom and Uncle Jeb were dumbfounded at Angel's question of where babies came from. Test tubes? Eggs?

_This_ _is what a family looks like_, I thought from my place by the hallway closet. For years it had only been my mom and me at holidays. She was an only child, her parents had died a while ago, and when we moved from California after my dad's death, she'd lost all contact with my father's parents. I loved my mom, but staring at each other on opposite sides of a dining room table that could potentially seat eight led to awkward, empty silences sometimes.

"I love being here for Thanksgiving," Nudge said.

I jumped a little, and turned to look at her. Her big brown eyes looked back at me with an innocence that I found weird seeing as how she had faced countless battles to the death throughout her life. She grinned. "Your mom is so cool, almost to the point that I can't believe any of this is actually happening, that we're actually having _turkey_ and not just fried squirrels on a stick or random berries that may or may not be poisonous!" She sounded beyond thrilled that all the food on the Thanksgiving table had no threat of toxicity. "On a real table, with a funky plush-turkey in the middle next to _actual_ candles!"

That reminded me why I was away from the festivities in the first place. "Oh yeah. Candles. The closet. I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you! I haven't had a chance to go in the closet yet!"

As I opened the closet door, I eyed her warily. "It's no big deal. I mean, coats and board games and old toys and such."

Nudge shook her head. "Normally, bird-kids hate small spaces, but both Gazzy and Iggy came in here, so I wondered if it was because this is an unnaturally cool closet or if it was maybe the company."

As soon as the door opened, Nudge bounded in. She looked around, taking survey of everything. She occasionally picked up something and examined it closely, turning it around in her fingers. Her hands traced across the shelves.

"Hey!" she called, picking something up. She turned around to me and bounced on her heels as she showed me what item she'd picked up. "A yoyo!" she squealed. She looped her middle finger through the hole and let go of the yoyo. It dangled lamely from the string. "Oh." Nudge giggled nervously, staring at the yoyo that twisted around its string. "I guess I'm no good at this."

"Do you know how?"

"Y'know, that could be why it's not moving. I never learned how to yoyo." Nudge slipped the loop from her finger and placed the yoyo back on the shelf. Then she stepped back to look at all of the other items. The way her eyes widened and her mouth formed a sad smile made me think that she was almost about to hug all of the boxes of old junk.

"Um… Nudge?"

"I've never played Scrabble. Or Yahtzee. We played Uno once, but we didn't have any blue cards and the only red card we had was a Reverse. And…" Nudge's finger traced a name on a box. "The game of Life. I've _heard _about it, sure, but never…" She turned back around to me. "Anne's was the closest we ever got to _normal_. You dunno how lucky you are, Ella, that you got to grow up with all of that."

I looked at the stuff in the closet. I squinted. I cocked my head. I closed my eyes and then opened them hoping to see something different. But all I could see was the same junk that had accumulated over the years. It didn't seem special to me or to hold anything tear-inducing, but Nudge's eyes looked a little misty.

I walked over to her, wanting to comfort her in some way, but I didn't know her all that well, so it would have felt awkward patting her shoulder or holding her hand.

"If it's any consolation, human life is a little boring," I told her.

Nudge whipped around and glared at me. "Sure, yeah, I bet it's so tiresome _not_ having to worry about mutant assassins putting a bomb in your pizza box. Golly, who would _want _the safety of an actual _home_? Not _me_."

And I thought Iggy was the sarcastic one. Nudge's words were positively poisonous. I had never seen Nudge mad before, never saw her fists shaking at her side, her eyes narrow, her words stall because anger kept them from getting out smoothly. I didn't like it.

"Sorry, that was stupid of me. I guess I just don't understand."

Nudge's glare faltered, and she smiled a little. "S'okay. I'm just… jealous, I guess. Which I totally shouldn't be because I love Max and Fang and the Flock, so how could I ever think that another life would be better?"

Nudge looked to the floor, and I looked at her, my mind trying to come up with something to say so I wouldn't sound like the stupid human who didn't know better.

"You know, I've always wanted to fly," I whispered.

Nudge grinned and sat down on the closet floor. I considered moving our conversation to the laundry room or mom's office just for something different, but Nudge was having a moment, and I might have been having a moment with her, so I just sat down criss-cross-apple-sauce next to her.

"I've always wanted to… um, go to high school. Cause of Troy and Gabriella, y'know from High School Musical? I know people don't really sing and dance randomly with all that coordination, but it really looks like fun." Nudge looked embarrassed at the confession. She laced her hands together.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," I said, remembering a few days ago. I cringed. "The teachers are always on your case because apparently we're supposed to ignore the other five classes in favor of only _theirs_. Studying. All-nighters. That scary Friday when I had five tests on the same day. My orchestra teacher riding me because I accidentally fell asleep during rehearsal."

Nudge leaped on the heels of my words. "Hanging out with friends at the movies without worrying about mutant attacks. Bowling. Skating. Shopping for clothes without having to ruin perfectly cute tops by slitting wing-holes in the back. I so wish that I could pass notes in class and _get caught_. I'd rather have the stress of a few thousand tests in one Friday if I could give up constantly running away." With each item on her list, she held out a finger. When she got to five, she wiggled them in my face, nodding emphatically.

I cocked my head. "Well, yeah, Nudge, but would you give up your wings?"

"Oh. Well, no."

"And you're with Iggy all the time," I pointed out, wishing that I could be so lucky.

"It's not that big a deal." Nudge rolled her eyes and faked a gag. "He gets _so_ annoying when he talks about you because he does it in a way like he wants to pretend he doesn't miss you or want to be with you when really he's trying to subtly tell Max that we should come back."

My stomach did a happy dance. "He does that?" I moaned in embarrassment and with a secret happiness that wasn't any secret to Nudge, who could totally see the goofy grin that transformed my face into that of a love-sick dork. Although… knowing that Iggy was kind of a love-sick dork too kept me from feeling ultimate humiliation.

"Yeah," Nudge said, raising her eyebrows. "I bet… I mean, he doesn't say it, but I really think that he's the same as me. Sometimes he really gets sick of trying to save the world, and wishes he could just, y'know, stay here with you and just chill."

I leaned against the closet wall. I don't know what sort of image Nudge had of my life, but it was probably wasn't as far from my reality as the imaginations I cooked up about the Flock's life. I pictured them swooping between clouds, taking handfuls of the fluffy stuff and chucking it at each other. I could gather from my mother and Uncle Jeb's hushed whispers that the Flock's life was far from safe, but I chose to ignore that portion. Probably because thinking of anything happening to my sister and my sort-of-boyfriend sent my stomach into a steep dive. Not the kind of dive that I got when Iggy wrapped his arm around my shoulders and whispered something in my ear, but the kind of dive that one might get from dropping off a thousand story building, watching the ground come closer and closer…

I held my stomach. Jeez. Fine. I completely understood where Nudge was coming from, wanting to stay here with my mom and me. I wanted her safe. And Iggy and Max and Gazzy. I wanted the Flock to be safe here with me. I wanted them to "just chill".

"Has anyone told you about my power?" Nudge's question broke me out of my reverie for which I was glad because the thoughts were scaring me.

"Kind of," I replied. "Iggy mentioned it. You can feel lingering emotions…?"

"Yup, that's pretty much the gist of it. And sometimes things get kind of hectic because emotions are heavy and a lot of it is negative, so it's really different when I sense something that's just _nice_, you know? And I can sense… I can tell that you really like him. And… and that he really likes you."

Warm tinglies crowded in my stomach. I tried my best to ignore them, but they felt so nice that their effects couldn't help but be incorporated into my words. "From just being here? That's amazing, Nudge."

She shrugged. "There are pluses and minuses. This… being here… definitely a minus."

I felt suddenly guilty about my warm tinglies. "Sorry."

"No!" she hastened to assure me. "It's not your fault, I mean, it is your fault cause these are your feelings, but I know you don't mean to make me feel bad, so I won't hold it against you. My empathy thing is good for figuring out passwords and hacking, but it's not so good when I'm totally jealous."

"Do you like Iggy, too?"

Nudge wrinkled her nose, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. "No. Ew. He's my _brother_. No, I'm just jealous of the feelings. That you two get to have each other and feel this way about each other. He's so… interested. Is that the word? Interested. I dunno, I can't really explain it." She ran her hands along the rail, and then looked at me. "But I think you know what I mean."

I knew what she meant.

Nudge sighed. "And it just made me feel all… _bad_, you know? I really hate this feeling!" Nudge buried her head in her hands, and I felt horrible. I set all warm tinglies aside and inched closer to her, but she started talking again before I could do anything comforting or awkward. "So, like, half of me wants to stay here and be _safe_, but the other half of me just wants to leave because I know that if I'm here looking at something that I can never have this feeling will just get worse!"

"I'll share it with you."

Something about the desperation in her voice made me unable to filter my words. What was I thinking? I couldn't share my life with her. I could give her my Chemistry book to feel the frustration undoubtedly packaged between the pages, but that would be evil and hardly the equivalent of a mile in my shoes.

But her head popped from its shell and her wide eyes, brimmed with tears, were filled with hope that made me want to think of _something_.

"You're leaving soon, right?" I asked, making it up as I go. "But next time, when you come back, you've got a ticket for a full day in my life. You'll hang with my friends, eat ice-cream that is hopefully not bomb-infested and watch High School Musical."

Typical weekend for me, paradise for Nudge. She unfolded herself. "Yeah?"

"Of course. And because my friends consider High School Musical scum, they won't be here to watch it, but I'll be here. You're just a kid, Nudge. You need some kind of stress relief. We'll even tie Max down to watch it with us, cause you know she's going to get rowdy during the five straight minutes of Zac and Vanessa making gooey eyes at each other."

"And! And!" Nudge started to get into it. "We can get Iggy to watch it, too. He _hates_ High School Musical." Nudge shook her head. "He just doesn't understand."

"Sadly. But at least his cries of agony will provide extra entertainment."

Nudge giggled and scooted so that we sat side-by-side. She stretched her legs out in front of her and wiggled her toes in her pink and brown striped socks. "That sounds really nice," she said looking to the floor. Her voice took on a calm like she had decided to accept the wait. "_Tonight_ is really nice. With all of us together."

"Oh yeah. The rest of them." I looked at the closet door and candles on the shelf. "This closet is pretty isolating. I sort of forgot."

"I think we should get back. There's probably no food left and I didn't even get any corn bread."

I agreed. Bonding was over. We stood up, I grabbed some candles from the shelf, and Nudge and I headed back to the table to join my growing family.


	5. Max

**Max**

"Surely you're kidding me."

I blinked. "No, I'm totally serious."

Max crossed her arms and leaned back on her left leg. She eyed me much in the same way that she might have eyed a robotic assassin who'd set his sensors on Nudge. Of course seeing as how she was my big sister who I knew could easily be swayed by choco-chips and a hug, I was not turned away in fear so much as pushed into laughter.

She crooked an eyebrow, and then broke out into a smile herself.

I reached out to grab her hand then put on my best little sister pout. "It'd mean a lot to me, Max. I'm going nutso, here trying to figure all this out. And I can't tell my mom because she'd try to give me The Talk and I'd never be able to go near her again without thinking _fallopian tubes. _And I can't talk to my friends because I'm supposed to keep it on the down low so that I don't accidentally get you all killed. So… I _need_ you, Max."

Cue widening of eyes and perhaps even a sniffle.

Was it evil to play on Max's inability to shake off a guilt trip? Perhaps. But hanging with Iggy had made me a touch malevolent.

And it worked. Every time.

"Okay," Max relented. She held up her hand. "But we do this in seclusion. Where Gazzy can't find me and gain blackmail material."

Then Max marched out of the kitchen, the persistent _clomp _of her combat boots emphasizing how not-happy she was with my request. I skipped after her, but skidded to a stop as Max leaned against the closet door.

She grinned and opened the door. "After you."

I rolled my eyes and dived into the closet.

"So…" Max muttered when we'd gotten settled. Under the illumination of a small flashlight, Max jittered. Her fists were clenched, her lips thin, and her eyes kept darting around the small space even though there was only one way to get out and one way to get in. No super-villains in the Martinez household. She rocked back and forth. "The interrogation begins."

"Don't think of it that way. Think of it as saving your sister."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Saviors of the world aren't known for their compassion."

"Jesus," I pointed out.

Her glare only hardened.

I sighed. "It's hard to be open when you look like you want to separate copious amounts of blood from my body."

Her glare softened. I'm sure if any of the Flyboys had approached Max with boy problems Max would have just severed their heads. I felt special that she didn't immediately inflict any pain on me.

I drummed my fingers against the carpet, but eventually I realized that Max wasn't going to make the first move.

"I just want to know how you did it."

"How I did what?"

"How you kissed him. For the first time."

I buried my head in my hands so I didn't have to see her reaction.

Fortunately, I heard breathing. Stalled breathing.

I lifted my head. "You okay, Max?" Then I grinned. Her face was flushed with color, and try as she did to keep herself from smiling, her _grimace-grr-I'm-a-bad-girl_ expression was quickly being over taken by a _golly-he's-amazing_ expression that I frequently wore in the presence of my own angel.

"I can't tell you about that," she managed to make out through her twisted expression.

"I just need something to imitate."

"Wait for Iggy."

"Iggy's as clueless as I am. I've at least lived in reality. Iggy hasn't seen any TV and Fang doesn't _speak_, so he's got nothing. I have to do this for us."

"Sucks to be the leader, doesn't it?"

"And I heard that you initiated the first kiss in _your_ relationship, so I was just wondering."

Max's expression relaxed to an icy blankness; a cool chill ran down my back. "Fang's guts got slashed out by my half-brother and I thought he was going to die. I was terrified. I thought I'd lose him. Blood was rushing to my head and out of several deep wounds and I was freaking out because I thought my best friend was going to die. That's the scenery for my first kiss. No stupid canoe down the rivers of Italy. No restaurant with dim lighting. A battle. So, no, Ella, I can't help you."

"It's called a gondola."

"What?"

"Not a canoe. A gondola."

"Like it _matters_!" She wasn't mad at me. Or maybe she was seeing as how my words were pretty stupid. But she wasn't looking _at_ me so much as looking _past _me into another place and time to a fatally wounded Fang. "Point is it doesn't… it doesn't work like that." Her voice grew softer. Her focus reset to the here and now.

She tried a smile, but it didn't work. Still, I pretended it portrayed any sort of sisterly affection and smiled back.

"Just give it time, Ella. Don't try to—" Then she abruptly changed direction. Her pace quickened, her pitch rose and her usual jitters increased to an all-out body tremor. "Screw what I just said. Don't wait. Take him, throw him against the wall, smack one on him. Don't wait for the 'right moment' because the 'right moment' may not come before he's hospitalized. Not that—" At my widened eyes and quickened breath, Max held up her hand. "Not that we're planning on anything big and dangerous. No worries. But you never know."

My stomach twisted at the thought of anything happening to Iggy. And it lunged at the thought of what I would have to do.

* * *

"Iggy."

Did my voice sound demanding enough? As authoritative as Max in the fury of battle? I _felt_ like a warrior. I clenched my fists.

"Sup, Ella?"

Casual. Not as tense as every muscle in my body because of course he didn't know what was happening next.

Next. Next.

I grabbed his shirt.

"Ella—why did you grab my shirt? What'd I do? Is it cause I ate the last piece of pizza, because I swear if you had told me I probably would have given you half or at least a few pepperonis and I—"

I pushed him against the wall of the hallway.

"For jusy a hundred-percent human that kind of hurt. Look will you _say _something?"

But I couldn't say anything. It took all my concentration to lean into him without bursting. To smell his smell, the intoxicating mix of ash and Iggy that would have made me light-headed if I hadn't been so determined. Standing on my tip-toes, stretching… but not quite making it.

"Lean down," I said, my tone not commanding but soft. Iggy was getting to me.

"Why? I don't—?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

He stopped talking. "Y-you—"

"Only you're freakishly tall. So I need you to lean down."

On the heels of my words, he reached to form the connection.


	6. Fang

**A/N: I had a hard time figuring out how to get Fang in the closet, but I think it worked out. I have no idea how I'm going to get Angel or Jeb in there. Maybe I should just ressurect Ari? *That* would be interesting. Also, there is one curse word in this short chapter, but I think it's justified under the circumstances. Sorry about the angst, but this is important part of their relationship, too.**

**Fang**

The hall light swallowed the small beam of the flashlight against the closet floor. Curled against the corner of the closet, I peeked through my fingers to see a birdkid in the doorway dressed in black, his face set in stone, his hand gripping the doorknob.

He looked down on me. I curled tighter into myself drawing my knees so far into my chest I almost couldn't breathe, wrapping my arms around my legs tightly enough to make permanent indents, looking up at him.

Fang made no move further into the closet, said nothing, only stared. Waited.

"You said he wouldn't get hurt." My voice came out whiny and tremulous. I tucked my chin into my knees, ducking back into my sphere of helplessness.

"There's never that promise." Fang took a step forward and closed the door behind him. He nudged stray objects out of his way and leaned against the wall.

"_He_ promised."

"You believed him?"

"He said—" My voice was strangled with fear and frustration and an unbearable sorrow that I tried to shake off, but my awkward stuttering only strengthened it . "He said it would be simple. No worries. In and out like THAT." I tried to snap, but my fingers shook too much. I withdrew my hand back into the sphere, burying it into my stomach to counteract the worry that gnawed on my insides.

"And then—then you come home, and Max is screaming, and—"

"Max is okay."

"And no one would tell me what was going on. I just saw BLOOD. Do you know how I _felt_?"

"Yes."

"Bad. I felt TERRIBLE. Helpless. Like—like—I couldn't do anything."

"Iggy's fine."

His name issued a surge of fright through me that I tried to release by grabbing the nearest toy and squeezing the stuffing out of it. Poor Roosevelt. The sad victim of misdirected feelings.

"I just STOOD there. And I had to take it. Every image of him: pale, b-bloody. I had to stand there and take it. And even if—even if I _had_ made myself move instead of just standing there, paralyzed in shock, I couldn't have _done_ anything. Useless Ella. I'm Useless Ella."

I threw Roosevelt. Fang's hand snatched it mid-trajectory and placed it safely out of the grasp of the crazy lady.

"Do you—" I looked at him, my eyes wide, spilling tears. He looked back, his eyes dark, betraying nothing. But he placed shaking hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. "Do you know how I _felt_?"

"Yes."

"No." I turned away, my eyes boring into the wall. "You have no idea how it feels to be this useless. To have to receive this kind of pain, accept it like a _gift_ because that's all you know how to do. _You_ can fight and fly. You can help. You have no idea how it feels to be this useless."

I heard a dark chuckle. "You think Max let's me help?" His tone challenged me. "Helping the most prideful mutant on the flocking planet is like voluntarily giving away your ability to sit for the next year because she will kick your butt for the insult. I have to stand there feeling useless knowing there's nothing I can do because she won't let me."

I looked back over to him. Now he sat, his back against the wall, his hands still plunged into his pockets, his eyes still unwavering, but less intimidating, more comforting. They said: _You are not alone._

"How do you deal with it?" I lacked bird-kid strength. My vision blurred with tears, my lower lip trembled.

He leaned closer. "I do what I can do. I let her know that I have her back. Then I let her handle it." He stood up.

"What do I do?" I pleaded.

"What you can do. Max, the flock and I can take down the asswipes who hurt Iggy."

"What can Ido?"

Fang opened the door; voices flooded in and I restrained the desire to press my hands over my ears and tune out the sounds that might mean bad news. _Looks like he's not going to—_

Fang pointed to the hallway.

"Let him know you've got his back by not leaving his side."

I stood up, mentally apologized to Roosevelt, and headed out the closet.

"Did Max send you?"

"No. Iggy did. I'm not sure, the pain from having his arm nearly severed off made him slur a bit, but it _sounded_ like he said: 'Make sure Ella is okay.'"


End file.
